


The ache inside, go away

by kalika_999



Series: Jack and Brock's misadventures [37]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, HYDRA Husbands, M/M, Recovered Memories, True Love, Waiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-15
Updated: 2018-03-15
Packaged: 2019-03-31 15:17:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13977867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalika_999/pseuds/kalika_999
Summary: The place had a building there this time with a loft in it.





	The ache inside, go away

**Author's Note:**

> I needed a break from editing this Stucky I gotta post soon. I don't know what this is, I always think of these two being soulmates and always finding each other again if they're reincarnated so..yes.

The place had a building there this time with a loft in it, built at some point from apparently the 80’s and a lingering familiar smell of pine and leather permeated the air. There was a thin layer of dust on everything, stacks of books lining rows and rows of shelves and some sat scattered across a round table next to too many abandoned cups and lopsided piles of dirty plates with old partially eaten food. Out of all the things Brock didn’t recognize around, he did see his coat draped against back of a wooden chair, clean and taken well care of. He’s not sure how it got here, or if it’s actually the one he wore before, it’s familiar though and he supposes that’s all that matters.

Jack’s back was turned to him doing something at the kitchenette in the corner before the counter. He kept spooning a specific amount of sugar to an awaiting cup but his hands were shaking so much that it was useless without spilling it across the marble.

“I’ll clean it up after, get off your damn high horse.” Jack mumbled out. “I’m not as bad as you are, how many times have you spilled coffee across the floor because you kick the table in reaction to something on TV or you forget you’re holding it and start gesturing with your hands?” 

Brock starts to protest that he had said nothing and then realizes with a sick drop of his stomach that Jack wasn’t talking directly to him. He was talking to a memory, a shadow of himself. He could only imagine how many conversations Jack carried on by himself through the years like he was there listening to each one without a way to retort back.

“I still think ya make more of a mess than I do.” Brock let’s out calmly as he moves in to stand by Jack, reaching out carefully to rest a hand against trembling fingers. “I’m finally back though. Maybe now ya won’t be such an idiot.”

Jack’s eyes keep flickering towards his face and then dropping away at the last second before they can connect. He tries to refocus on his coffee instead, the hand under Brock’s not moving anymore. “Been waiting.” 

He’s always here first, always remembers everything before him and Brock knows it’s because he’s so devoted to them. It’s not because Brock isn’t, it’s more because he’s wary of what’s in his own head, always has been. They play the same song over and over again and while Brock wars with memories he can’t place with logic, Jack goes on the hunt to find their _special place_ no matter what it is anymore and then he waits.

“I know.” Brock looks around at the wood beams, recently redone and reinforced so the roof wouldn’t collapse on Jack’s head while he rested. “Did you buy the lot out and wait here all this time?”

“I don’t know when you’ll come back to me.” Jack’s gaze moves towards the window to the view of the river. “If you show up without me here, who knows if you’ll even stay or maybe think this building belonged to someone else.” He pulled his hand away and went back to the small canister of sugar. “I have to stay and wait for you, Brock.”

“But, I’m _here_ , Jack.” Brock reminded him, brows coming together pensively. He realizes Jack thinks he’s hallucinating again, “I found our space and we’re here, together.” 

Jack only turns towards the door, walking over to it to leave, shoulders bunched and pressing his hands together as his thumb grounds into the palm of his hand, “I have to get more groceries and make sure when Brock’s here that he has everything he needs. He’s always starving when we meet again- ”

Swallowing thickly, the memories come back of this point, the point where Brock remembers that Jack waits for him and barely sleeps so he can make sure he’s found because he’s so _alone_ without him and he intimately knows how that feels, emptiness pooling around his center as soon as faded pasts slip into his consciousness and dreams turn into truths.

“Jack, stop.” Brock shouts before a hand can lay on the heavy handle of the door and he stills but doesn’t turn around.

Brock approaches him and does the only thing he knows may work and get him to understand. He’s done it before though it always seems like it’s the first time. He puts his hands at the sides of Jack’s jaw, the stubble so much softer than expected, and steers their faces for each other, eyes carefully locked. There’s no pulling away or protest, so Brock takes it as permission to move forward and presses their lips together.

The reaction is almost instantaneous. Brock’s heart pounds in his chest as nervousness shifts to something more when Jack kisses him back, hands that were still at his sides abruptly shifting and grasping around the back of his shirt. It’s then when five lifetimes worth of memories flood through the both of them.

In this one, Jack has no family and he just bought this loft a couple years ago. He feeds the strays when he sees them about and likes to smoke while watching the sun rise in the morning. Oddly, he still hates raisins in this life and goes out of his way on very rare times to a bakery that knows him by name just to avoid things baked with them. He reads classic literature in multiple languages when he finds the effort to, drinks too much coffee and tea and hates the news. Despite not minding cleaning up, he just keeps promising the furniture he will dust it later and there’s a telescope to watch the stars by one of the far windows that was an impulse buy he’s never regretted.

Memories from the past are there, too. The ones where they saw each other last, when Jack was named Ben and Brock was an Edward. Even though Edward was betrothed to another, they still managed to hide their secret and sneak away to each other and no one ever bat an eye to their friendship in public. They grew old together and when Ben had gone, it didn’t take long for Edward to follow after him, always in love and always together. Despite having so many names in so many incarnations of themselves, the most common has always been the ones they use now.

They keep kissing, pulling every fragment of time out of each other that they’ve missed apart. Every press of their lips and touch of their tongues sends a new memory to Brock. They all taste like pine and baked bread, warmth and happiness wrapped around each one, even when they had bad days or one watched the other die in their arms, they were still cherished and precious to the both of them because it was _theirs_. So many situations having Jack in numerous professions at different eras in time with Brock alongside and there are even some, very rare and far in between, where Jack is without him at all and it makes Brock hurt knowing he’s had lives with the same outcome. 

“Brock,” Jack says, when they pull apart.

Brock’s heart clenches almost painfully when he hears his name, clear and earnest. Nerves curl around and through him once again, but he knows it’ll dissipate soon, that it doesn’t matter. They know each other, they’ve known each other and will always be each other’s.

“I found you at last.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Breaker 1 - Interpol


End file.
